


The Tail of a Thousand Words

by NeverKnightfire



Series: The Heart’s Proximity [5]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor has a heart, Dorks in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Speculation, in a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverKnightfire/pseuds/NeverKnightfire
Summary: Alastor loved Husk's tail.It was the sort of statement that one didn't make out loud in public. It was far too personal. Far too easily misunderstood. Far too easily turned on you by eavesdroppers with a penchant for taking things out of context when one did NOT mean THAT kind of "tail".
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: The Heart’s Proximity [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028173
Comments: 9
Kudos: 89





	The Tail of a Thousand Words

Alastor loved Husk's tail. 

It was the sort of statement that one didn't make out loud in public. It was far too personal. Far too easily misunderstood. Far too easily turned on you by eavesdroppers with a penchant for taking things out of context when one did NOT mean THAT kind of "tail". 

Although Alastor could certainly make the statement in private, he found that he could not overcome his flustered sense of propriety and speak the words, even after a year of marriage. 

No, it seemed that Alastor would take this secret to his do-over grave. Every fiber of his being screamed that there was no way possible in Satan's red Hell that he could look Husker directly in those softly-glowing midnight eclipses he called eyes and say "Darling, I do so adore your tail." 

Considering that Alastor's beloved seemed to have a low opinion of his appearance and the extra appendages he'd gained upon manifesting in Hell, there was no way that he wouldn't find the statement odd. Husker himself derisively called the long, lithe extension of his spine "the butt rudder"; a description that he had defended at length when Alastor had called him out on it. 

"That's what it does!" the cat demon had explained, red-faced with exasperation. "Balance and control, especially in the air! That's what the damn thing does, Al!" 

How Husk could be so dismissive of the limb was a mystery, as far as Alastor was concerned. Of course, he could admit to a certain amount of bias on the topic. That was only natural. He was excessively fond of the grouchy cat demon and found him a fascinating subject in mind and in shape. 

Husk had long ago surpassed being merely "entertaining" and became enchanting. An unwitting siren whose silent song had whispered a lonely melody in the back of the Radio Demon's mind until he'd at last succumbed to the need to join his own to it. It had taken some rehearsal, some experimentation, but the harmony that had been coaxed into being... it sang! Oh, how it sang! At times, Alastor could feel the resonance from it in his very bones. 

It was warm. It was comforting. It was home.

It wasn't perfect, it buzzed with dissonance here and there, but Alastor was a man of music, a demon of sound and energy. The heart-song had him firmly in its grip, and he would gladly spend an after-lifetime tweaking the play of the tune until he had it perfected. 

One of the biggest sources of sour notes was Husk's poor opinion of his demonic form. Again, a mystery. As far as that tail was concerned, it was like most of Husker's physical being, a marriage of form and function that was a marvel to behold. 

The way his large, keen eyes gleamed with patient humor! The delicately upswept ears that gravitated to every sound, even the most softly whispered "je t'aime" with pinpoint accuracy! The sleek, soft fur that begged to be embraced! The great talons that could shred a throat effortlessly! The blood-red plumed wings that could swing Husk aloft or beat an unwary demon senseless with one fell sweep! 

And the tail. Yes, the tail was a subject all its' own. Alastor could pen a thousand words easily about the tail. The way it curled with careless, sinuous grace, the surprising density of the thing if it was brought to bear against one's shins, the intricately woven transition from fur to feathers... Again, a marvel of engineering. A work of art that the ancient Greeks would have looked upon and despaired of ever capturing in marble. Hats off to the designer, truly. 

If pressed, Husk could name something nice or at least acceptable about parts of his form. His tail seemed to get no such consideration or praise, however. It was ignored, sneered at, or shrugged off. Why? 

Did being at the rear of his being and furthest from the mirror mean Husker was less aware of the thing? Was being behind him the reason it was regarded as an afterthought, if it was thought of at all? Or perhaps did Husk consider it a mark of excessively bestial appearance? That was a worrisome question. 

Certainly, Alastor didn't advertise his own aft attachment out of a certain amount of self-conscious concern. It was different for an Overlord. It was especially different for one who could end up with a nickname like "Bambi Butt". Perhaps drawing the distinction made Alastor a hypocrite, but it was what it was. 

It was true that unless you were very powerful, the less human your demonic form appeared, the less respect that the average demon paid you. There were, however, exceptions. Demons whose otherworldly appearance cycled back around from being merely "unearthly" to "otherworldly" and widely accepted as attractive. Alastor had never given much consideration to the puzzling concept, but it clearly mattered a great deal to some individuals. 

Husker seemed to be one of those to whom it mattered, and who was blind to his own unique beauty because the judgement of the ignorant made him insecure. 

Certainly, he was not perfect. A marvel, unquestionably. Perfect? Never, and especially not at his lows. He smelled permanently of pungent tobacco and cheap alcohol. Left to his own devices, he tended to be as lazy as eternity was long. He had less interest in the greater world than a log. Given a choice between feeding himself or his vices, he'd pick the vices almost every time. He had a mouth that would make a sailor blush. 

These qualities had been exacerbated to their worst when Alastor had first met the other demon. They'd built up a wall, a shell, a husk around the individual within. They'd kept away the threat of being wounded by others at the price of keeping others from approaching the lonely soul they contained. They prevented new hurt by sealing in the old, and the only one who'd made the attempt at getting past the barrier of self-destruction? Well, it was a demon who'd intended to make things worse for his own amusement. 

Husker had forgiven him long ago, but Alastor didn't know if he'd ever truly forgive himself. Back in the Before, he'd once rented a room from an elderly jeweler. The man had been a kindly sort. He catered to every customer with equal cheer and gentlemanly manners, no matter the size of their pocketbook. Always quick to see the positive in any situation and eager to find the good in anyone. An easy mark for would-be thieves, and one whom Alastor thoroughly enjoyed protecting. Why stalk the streets for prey when the vermin would come to him? 

The old man had often lectured his boarder on the worth of gems and people. A stone with flaws might not fetch a high price, but it might sparkle all the more for someone who could afford little else. "Take care that you don't discard a diamond just because it has a few inclusions, my boy! Not in stones, and not with people. The best ones, the most valuable ones, they're not always the ones that you expect from the first glance! A rough stone without cut and polish can look like a greasy marble. Don't be fooled into throwing away treasure because you didn't look close enough!" 

Despite hearing the words almost every day for a year of his short life, Alastor had almost forgotten. His Husker was a gem, and a rare one. Not the sort that turned the covetous heads of the uneducated rabble, but the kind that set Alastor's own heart singing with crystal notes of joyous content. A private treasure, so fantastic that the unworthy were not permitted to witness it. 

If Alastor could tune Husker's ears and eyes to what Alastor himself beheld, what then? Would Husk's polish shine so bright that it blinded all of Hell? Would the music between them gain in power until the tone-deaf rabble could hear its rapturous harmony? Or would the cat demon blush and stutter before diving into hiding, only the twitching feathered end of his tail betraying his personal wonder and delight? 

One day, the Radio Demon vowed, he would unlock the secret to finding out. On that day, perhaps he'd at last have the ability to say those thousand words to his darling Husker. 

He'd settle in beside the other on the loveseat. One arm would slide around the cat demon's thin waist, the other gliding gently down the length of the curving rear attachment to scratch carefully at the quills of the feathered tip. Then at last, Alastor would lean in and whisper "Darling, I do so love your tail..."


End file.
